Cassius collected up Carnifex’s weapons and also threw them into the high grass.
‘Don’t think he’ll be getting free in a hurry,’ said Indavara, tapping Carnifex on the shoulder.
Cassius walked over and inspected the wound on the back of the centurion’s head. The stave had taken off a big lump of skin.
‘Something tells me he’s going to be in a fairly bad mood when he wakes up,’ added Indavara.
‘Let’s put him in,’ said Cassius. Indavara took the legs and with the other two grabbing the straps of his armour they hauled Carnifex’s dead weight up into the cart. Eborius took the blanket he had left there and draped it over the inert centurion.
‘You watch him,’ Cassius told Indavara. ‘Any noise …’
‘I hit him with the stave again?’
‘No. Just gag him.’
Indavara climbed into the cart. Eborius and Cassius jumped up on to the narrow bench at the front.
‘Good idea — that story about the optios,’ said the centurion. ‘Those two usually go with him everywhere.’
With a gentle tug on the reins, the horse set off and the cart trundled out of the clearing.
XXVI
In fact they saw five people during the journey, the first of them at the second bridge. The gorge was narrower here, and the bridge — though composed entirely of timber — was still in good repair. As they reached the northern side, they passed an elderly peasant with two dead birds in his hand and a bow over his shoulder. He looked down as the cart came near and continued on his way without a word.
Then, as they crossed the Via Cyrenaica outside Darnis, they spied four riders, also traversing the road a mile to the west.
Even at that distance, Eborius could see enough to identify them. ‘Maseene. Gods, they come and go as they please now.’
Beyond the tribesmen, and partly obscured by trees, was a damaged section of the aqueduct — an arch with its middle missing.
Cassius glanced over his shoulder at the still-unconscious Carnifex.
‘With that bastard gone, perhaps you’ll have a chance of improving things here.’
‘If it’s not already too late.’
Eborius whipped the reins at his horse’s back, sending the cart bumping down the side of the road and on to a narrow track that ran between fields of swaying, golden wheat.
‘Why has no one harvested this?’ asked Cassius.
‘Not enough workers,’ replied Eborius.
No one spoke again until they were approaching the marsh.
‘I assume there’s a way through to the hut?’ asked Cassius.
‘A path. But it’s not wide enough for the cart.’
‘I think he’s coming round,’ said Indavara.
‘Might be better if he does wake up,’ said Cassius. ‘At least we won’t have to carry him.’
Eborius pulled up his horse and halted the cart. The marsh was thick with low, sprawling trees, twisted branches hanging close to the mud. The path was indeed narrow but clear, made of gravel and sand. Cassius waved away a pair of persistent flies, jumped down and joined Eborius at the rear of the cart.
Indavara removed the blanket and dragged Carnifex back by his legs. The centurion was stirring; grunting and moving his hands. With Indavara holding his armour straps, Cassius his belt and Eborius his feet, they lowered him to the ground, then propped him up against one of the cart wheels. Cassius took the top off his canteen and poured the contents on to Carnifex’s face.
As Carnifex blinked and sniffed, Indavara examined the old wound on his forehead. Cassius didn’t want to get any closer but also couldn’t take his eyes off the hole; it was at least half an inch deep.
‘Did an arrow do that?’ Indavara asked Eborius.
‘The way Procyon tells it, it was a stray bolt that came over a shield wall. Apparently he left it in, kept fighting, then pulled it out later.’
Indavara whistled as he pulled the stave from over his shoulder. Eborius put a hand on his sword hilt.
Cassius took a step backwards. ‘How old is he anyway?’
‘No one knows. Old. He was at the Battle of Carthage.’
‘By Mars,’ said Cassius, ‘that was almost forty years ago.’
Carnifex’s chin was against his chest. Eyelids flickering, he slowly raised his head. He flexed his arms, then realised his hands were tied behind him. Glancing at the trio in turn, he settled his gaze on Eborius.
‘Not bad for a barefoot. How long you been planning this?’
‘It wasn’t his plan, Centurion,’ said Cassius. ‘I trust you’re going to cooperate? If you try anything, I’ll have to have my friend here hit you again.’
‘Who are you, boy?’
‘I’m with Imperial Security. I’m taking you into custody because of your involvement in the death of Augustus Marius Memor. Once we’re in Cyrene, my superiors will decide what to do with you.’
When Carnifex frowned, the scar became oval. ‘Guess you were on that ship. Looks like I overrated Nicasias.’
‘Is that Dio’s real name?’
Carnifex let his head drop back against the wheel.
‘Get on your feet,’ Cassius told him.
‘What d’you like, grain man? Gold? Sapphires? Girls?’
‘Don’t waste your breath.’
‘Boys?’
‘Get on your feet or we’ll knock you out and carry you.’
The old centurion looked up at the sky. ‘It’s almost dark. If you’re putting me on that ship, you won’t be leaving till morning. My lads’ll find me.’
‘The man told you to get up,’ said Indavara, stepping closer.
‘You got my blood on that stick of yours, One Ear,’ replied Carnifex. ‘I’ll get me a lot more of yours. Count on it.’
Indavara held the stave one-handed and tapped it against the side of Carnifex’s head. ‘Not going to say it again, old man.’
Carnifex butted the stave aside, then nodded at his feet. ‘What about the rope? Unless you want me to hop?’
Nobody moved.
‘What? No one wants to get too close to old Carn?’
Indavara drew his sword and put the tip of the blade under Carnifex’s chin.
‘You so much as twitch and I’ll give you a nice new scar for your collection.’
The centurion stared back at Indavara, then gave a lopsided smile. ‘I like you. I’ll get me that blood of yours, but I do like you.’
Carnifex turned his attention to Eborius as he drew his dagger, knelt down and cut through the rope. ‘Got to say, didn’t think you had the balls for this, Manius. Don’t reckon you could have managed it on your own, though. And you still can’t look me in the eye even now, can you?’
‘All right, that’s enough,’ said Cassius.
Eborius finished. He stood up and grabbed Carnifex under the left arm. Indavara grabbed him under the right and they hauled him up.
Carnifex inspected Cassius. ‘You really a grain man, boy? Good disguise — ’cause you look like a useless streak of piss.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ countered Cassius. ‘You look like a centurion.’
Carnifex snarled his reply: ‘I was a centurion an age before your piece-of-shit father shot his load into whatever bitch you call Mother.’
‘Well,’ replied Cassius, ‘as much as I’d like to continue this stimulating exchange, we don’t have time to waste.’
Indavara sheathed his sword and aimed the stave towards the path. ‘Move.’
With another grin, Carnifex set off, Indavara close behind him.
‘You’ll get rid of the cart?’ Cassius asked Eborius.
‘Later.’
Eborius hurried ahead of the others and led them into the marsh. Cassius took the pack from the cart — and a final glance along the track — then jogged over to take his place behind Indavara.
As they walked on, the smell of mud and decaying vegetation grew stronger. Tiny birds flitted about above them in the higher boughs of the trees, greeting the dusk with their merry chirruping. Twice Indavara told Carnifex to slow down when he got too close to Eborius; the younger centurion turned round regularly to check on the captive. For his part, Carnifex didn’t seem overly concerned by his predicament, and even took to whistling a tune that Cassius recognised as an old marching song.